The Perfect Rose

by Diane Greenwood

  "But surely it cannot be as bad as that?"

  "Judge for yourself. I have gotten myself engaged to a man I don't love!"

  "His lordship? You could do worse bonne amie."

  Torie felt tears well. “No, No. He would not have me. He as good as said so. It is the parson Pickwick I am promised to."

  "You a parson's wife? I cannot see it. No, this is wrong. Do not cry belle dame. It breaks my heart to see that flawless face marred by tears."

  "You don't understand. I agreed to the match. At least I think I did. Oh, if it wasn't for that wretched kiss I would have not gotten so confused and said yes when I meant to say no!"

  "The parson's kiss?” Jacques asked.

  "Nay, Rhionne's ... I mean Lord Lairdscroft's. He said the kiss meant nothing to him, but how can that be when it meant everything to me?! And there have been other times when I would have sworn he felt something. How can it not be so, when I felt so much?"

  Jacques froze. His eyes narrowed and his face took on a mottled tone. “The knave! The cur! To compromise you; then pawn you off to another! This will not pass unchallenged, I promise you that, ma Cherie’ !" Before Torie could stop him he stomped off in the direction of the house, his long legs carrying him faster than she could run.

  She need not have worried, the footman being of bullish stature was able to detain him from entering; and Jacques, not unreasonable bowed stiffly and retreated. Torie breathed a sigh of relief. It was almost more than she could bear and if she had caused Jacques to lose his place over her foolishness, she would be quite beside herself with guilt. But thankfully, it would not come to that.

  Her day was brightened by Brodie and Justin whom she heard calling her name. They found her before she could locate them and made such a fuss over her disappearance, she was quite moved by their concern. When it was all said and done it would be so much easier for her to pick up and go away from Lairdscroft, but how could she ever leave these two little men who had captured her heart?

  No, she could never just abandon them, not even if it meant having to honor her commitment to Jonathan Pickwick. And perhaps being a parson's wife was not so bad, not if you looked at the sensible side. She could be near the boys and see them at will. Yes, as Rhionne said, it was the convenient, sensible outcome. And yet, being so close at the parsonage Torie could also be near Rhionne. And that was anything but sensible.

  Good Lord, she was contemplating marriage to one man just to be near another and his family! She was sure this was a sin against nature, if not the church. She was doomed one way or the other. There was nothing for it, somehow, in some way; she would have to get out of marrying the parson.

  She would think on it when her mind was clearer. She devoted the rest of the day to the boys. She ran through the maze with them, painted water colors alongside them, and since there was no summons for dinner downstairs, she ate with them in the nursery. All in all, what began as one of her worst days ended for Torie on a pleasant note. Rhionne was away for the evening leaving Torie and the boys free reign of the dining room at supper. Despite the chamber's imposing size, the table rules of etiquette were ignored and all three sat at one end and giggled wickedly at their shameless disregard for propriety. Torie even allowed elbows on the table when the servants weren't in attendance.

  The warm memory of that evening would see Torie through trying times ahead. Indeed it was well she had that evening for another such would be far off in the future.

  * * * *

  The following day Torie was down in the kitchens doing a bit of ironing. Nasty work it was really. Taking the hot iron out of the fire and pressing it just so against the cloth so it wouldn't singe. She could have had one of the maids do it but she was finding peace of mind in hard work. She liked not having to think on what lay ahead. She was intent on her task—so much so, that when the boys shouted her name, she nearly dropped the hot iron. She did drop the bucket of water she had been using to neatly steam press creased collars down. The water sloshed on the granite floor making Torie hop from one foot to the other to keep from getting soused.

  Brodie giggled till Torie shot him a withering look that quelled his spunk. Justin looked abhorred to find Torie doing such a menial task. “Torie, what the blazes do you mean by doing the servant's work? You are here for us, not to aid them!"

  His arrogant tone was so like his father's that despite its childish content Torie felt the words strike a chord in her heart. With more sting than she intended Torie replied, “I am a servant, your Exalted Royal Highness."

  Justin had the grace to blush. But when Torie made to mop up the spilled water he grew impatient again. “Leave it, Torie. We have something to tell you of grave importance.” He ran his thumbs along the lapels of his dark blue velvet frock coat loftily.

  "Then I suggest you help me clean up this mess so you may impart your momentous news."

  With an exasperated sigh Justin grabbed the bucket and a rag and began dabbing at the spill. One look at Torie's implacable expression and he began wiping in earnest. Torie dried her hands when they were finished and ushered the boys out into the paved courtyard that encircled the kitchen entrance to the house. The sun felt good on her hair and she loosened it from its bonds to let it fall freely. “Now, I thought you boys would be out riding with your father on this fine day. I saw you head off across the meadow. Don't tell me Brodie behaved so badly your father returned you."

  "That's not fair!” Brodie nearly shouted. “I was a good boy, I swear. I even kept my pony up so we wouldn't lag and Father wouldn't have to wait up.” Then as if confiding something he shouldn't Brodie cupped his small hand in front of his mouth. “It was Justin. He asked Father why you couldn't come along on our rides and Father turned his horse about and said the ride was over."

  "Oh.” Was all Torie could say.

  "If you ask me, Father's gone queer in the attic,” Justin volunteered.

  "Justin!” Torie cried, shocked. “What a terrible thing to say. You take that back!"

  "Oh, all-right. But what should he care if you accompany us. It's only another horse along. The more the merrier, I say. Besides, now there's this duel."

  Torie caught her breath. “I beg your pardon?"

  "That's what we came to tell you!” Brodie jumped up and down in his excitement.

  With considerably more reserve Justin elaborated. “We had just returned to the stables and given over our mounts to the grooms. Brodie threw straw all over me and I was just about to deliver him a sound thrashing, when I caught sight of Father walking across the stables, towards the house. One of the gardeners came up to him and without so much as a by your leave, slapped his cheek with a dirty work glove. ‘I challenge you, sir! Tomorrow at half-past dawn. The north meadow. Your choice of armory.

  "You should have seen Father's face. It never flinched. Cool as a cucumber he was as he asked, ‘May I have the honor and the verdict?'

  'Jacques St. Giles defending the honor of Miss Victoria Beauclaire.'

  "Father bowed stiffly and replied, ‘As you will.’ Then he kept walking as if he had just exchanged civilities with an acquaintance! Imagine! A duel!"

  "Can we go Torie, can we?” Brodie pleaded.

  "Certainly not! Oh, dear, this is my entire fault. This is terrible!"

  Alarmed by her pallor Justin sought to reassure her. “Don't worry, Torie, Father is a bang-up shot and with a rapier he is an ace-high, second to none!"

  But this did not console her in the least. “Where is your father?"

  Brodie shrugged. “I saw him go into the library."

  "I'll bet he's arranging for a second as we speak!” Justin volunteered.

  "You boys go eat nuncheon. I will be with you for lessons in an hour."

  "Aw, Torie! I'm too excited to eat and certainly for lessons.” Brodie tried to wheedle his way out of the proposed schedule.

  "You'll do as I say!” Torie snapped, before rushing past into the house. She forgot the blue linen apron around her waist; she forgo
t her hair hanging freely. She looked like a wanton milkmaid and could have cared less!

  She even forgot her manners as she rushed headlong towards the library. Being quite a distance from the kitchen, the dash left her out of breath and slightly incoherent. She took no time to collect herself but flung open one of the heavy, oaken double doors and without a glance at whoever, or whatever, his lordship was occupied with, she expostulated; “My lord ... Rhionne ... I would have a word with you!"

  The bailiff who absorbed Rhionne's attention took second place now as both men were stunned by the startling interruption. The first impression was of a wraith-like nymph of the moors, hair streaming about, giving the illusion of floating. The plain, white gown she wore added to this impression with only the blue linen apron to bring reality into view.

  Lord Lairdscroft slammed the estates books he had been perusing closed with a decisive motion. “That will be all Glover."

  "Very good, sir.” The loyal bailiff Glover, who had been serving at his post since before the present Lord Lairdscroft's indoctrination, bowed respectfully and backed from the room, never taking his eyes off Torie. He later imparted to the gamekeeper he was on one wrinkled hand relieved that the apparition was human, as his elder years made him fear it was truly a wraith that had come to collect his soul and take it to the other side.

  Still, upon seeing the distraught Torie he was not exactly relieved. The household was turning havey-cavey upside-down, what with females bursting in upon business meetings, scarcely respectably clad, and duels being fought over a mere governess, no matter how comely. Why, in the old lord's time this kind of thing was unheard of! Well, not that it did not happen, but it was indeed not heard of!

  Rhionne surveyed Torie coolly. “Please take a seat and a breath. You seem frenetic to the point of vapors. You are not the fainting kind so I must presume this is a matter of importance and not a trifling inconvenience?” He rose and lifting the heavy estate volume with ease, returned it to the shelf next to similar leather bound tomes.

  This calculated action was meant to give Torie a chance to compose her person. But when Torie observed the form of her employer clad in precise fitting white trousers—without a jacket and wearing the prerequisite immaculate white shirt, the sleeves informally rolled up—retake his seat at the long library table, she found her thoughts as jumbled as ever.

  Rhionne looked at her inquiringly. “Pray tell, enliven me with what brought you here in such an unconventional state.” He did not ask the question but rather demanded it.

  Even the hard backed, heavy library chair, uncomfortable in its stalwart way, could not make the words come out of her mouth with any degree of equability. She took a deep breath and the words poured forth. “The duel tomorrow it is all a misunderstanding it cannot take place!"

  Rhionne's lips thinned. “To the contrary. Somewhere along the line it seems I have compromised your virtue. Somehow, I thought it would be a more memorable task, but alas ... I cannot recall the deed. Well, I am no longer in my salad days and the memory is the first to go, or so they say."

  Torie's eyes widened in abhorrence. “How can you make jests at a time like this?"

  "My dear, I am touched by your concern. Can it be you hold me in some esteem?"

  "Not you! You are heartless! How can it be otherwise when you know it is not an equal match? You are a prime shot and he is but a gardener! It is nothing short of murder!"

  "You should be careful with the words you throw about, just as you should be more careful with whom you dally. You have only yourself to blame for choosing a hotheaded young scamp who trims greenery for his livelihood. Nay, it will be swords not pistols for this meeting. A more tangible weapon than your beauty, which I liken to a siren's song. You recall the tales of those bewitching women who lured sailors to their death on the ocean's rocks with just a lilting voice and a sweet smile? Tell me Torie, do you mean to cause trouble or were you born with the powers of seduction?"

  Torie was on her feet in a flash of creamy, white ankle. Without thinking she reached out and struck the derisive face that mocked her, in the same instant recoiling and covering her mouth, stifling the gasp of dismay over her frenzied action. His eyes were dark blue, fathomless pools that threatened to drown her in their intensity. She thought he would return the blow, indeed he made to rise, but Torie's words halted him. “I ... I'm sorry. I should not have..."

  "My dear, it's too late for apologies now. I should have seen where this was headed earlier in the game. I hold only myself to blame at this juncture. I should have cut you loose when you were first unveiled. But you looked so innocently unaware of your potent charms that I misread your character completely. Something rare, I assure you. But you see, I too was bewitched. Like an untried schoolboy I had foolish notions of ... well, let us say ... a romantic nature.

  "But all that is over now. My boys are fond of you and would only resent me if I severed all ties with you. So I think it best if you do as I suggest. Marry the parson Pickwick and try to settle into being a good, demure wife!” He seemed to find mirth in this. “At least you will be his arsenic and not mine."

  Torie searched his face for some sign of compassion. There was none; but she recklessly plunged on. “If you think so badly of me I cannot change that. I don't know if there is truth in what you say for my mind is so muddled, I cannot think straight. Only do not hold Jacques accountable for what you think I have done. You cannot think I would intentionally provoke him into challenging you! I beg of you ... He is but an overgrown boy with outmoded notions of chivalry!"

  Rhionne took no pity. “Then he should learn not to utter the words of a man. No, it is now a pique of honor and can only be satisfied by a match of prowess. Now, if you are finished ineffectually pleading for your amore', I believe this conversation is at an end."

  Torie started to the door, then not caring how childish she sounded she turned and threw at him, “You men and your stupid pride! Can honor be so important you would sacrifice so much for it?"

  Rhionne looked at her as if memorizing her face. “It is everything, my dear."

  * * * *

  Torie did not accompany the boys down for dinner that evening. But rather, she pleaded a headache and did not venture from her room. When she did not show to tuck the boys in, Brodie disobeyed the rules and ventured from bed to come see if Torie were all right. He thought she looked peaked when she opened her door and told her so, even going so far as to say he would ask Justin to consult father and perhaps summon a doctor.

  Torie nearly panicked and forced a smile. “No, it is nothing my sweet. I will accompany you back to your room so you can see it is only temporary."

  As Torie tucked him in, his huge, luminous gray eyes met hers. “Could Father die tomorrow?"

  "Darling, is that why you couldn't sleep?"

  Brodie looked embarrassed but he would not let her go without reassurance. “Justin says he's a crack shot, but he was listening at the door when father told the footman to inform his opponent it was to be swords. Justin said even the best fencer can be caught off guard."

  "I suppose that is so. But darling, nothing short of a miracle would cause your father to make such a mistake. Nay, you have nothing to worry about on that score. Now can you sleep?"

  Brodie nodded, obviously much relieved. Torie bade him goodnight and returned to her room, wishing her fears could be so easily explained away. She cared for Jacques—not as she cared for Rhionne, but as a friend—and either conclusion to the duel would bring unbearable pain. It did not signify at this time that it was her fault, for there was nothing she could do to prevent the event.

  Neither was there any comfort to be taken in Rhionne's admission he had felt something for her. The kiss that had stunned her had not left him unstirred. But the words he had spoken after this confession crushed any joyance she might feel. Her anxiety was overwhelming and her eyes would not close. She lay on her bed, veritably wearing the night out.

  The early dawn arrived and she was
no longer lying abed but instead sat fully dressed by the window, watching the fog-shrouded courtyard below. Two horses were led out and shortly thereafter a figure enshrouded in a cape emerged from the house. Torie did not need to see the face to know it was Rhionne. A groom joined him and they rode off toward the meadow.

  Last night Torie was indecisive on her attendance at the pique of honor but this morning her feet carried her of their own volition, downstairs and to the stables. It did not take a shout to summon a groom. Everyone was awake waiting for news of the outcome.

  Torie wished she were an accomplished whip so she might take the speedier curricle. As it were, she had to wait for the dogcart and single cob to be readied. She used the ribbons as strongly as she dared, encouraging the horse to a spanking pace. Even so, by the time she arrived at the north meadow it was over. The fog had cleared and Torie could plainly see a shaggy blond head lying prostrate on a bed of wheat grass. Standing over him was a lean, unscathed figure holding a rapier, its razor tip red with blood.

  Scarcely waiting for the cart to come to a standstill, Torie leapt down and gathering her skirts ran at an unladylike pace, heedless of the cat-tails and dewdrops that would ruin her gown.

  Rhionne watched her approach with interest. The girl certainly had no pretensions of where her affections lay. When she did not even deign to look at him but instead knelt by the big-ox of a gardener and cradled his head in her lap, he could not help the stab of envy that seized his heart. In a scathing tone he commented dryly, “Your concern for me is touching. No really, don't get up, I am fine."

  It was then that Torie looked at him and saw the red stain that soaked the white material of his shirtsleeve.

  "I must admit,” Rhionne gave grudgingly, “he is better with a sword than I would credit, given his bulk and size."

  She could see the wound was trifling and had already stopped bleeding but Jacques injury was within inches of his heart and bled profusely. Torie looked up once more and raised her voice; “You are horrid!"